


Being Blond and Wearing Glasses

by animehead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breathplay, Humor, M/M, Rope Bondage, Water Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Water, ropes, and insults. Dave and Sollux aren’t doing this shit right at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Blond and Wearing Glasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimya/gifts).



> Written for Kimya-gee on tumblr. <3

He’s late. 

 

This comes as no surprise to you as he’s always fucking late. You’re not sure exactly what in the dual colored fuck could make it so that he’s _always_ late, but you figure it’s pointless to really think about it. He’ll show up, you’ll go through your typical bullshit, and then you’ll both get what you came for. 

 

You scope out your chosen meeting place. It’s not something you’d typically go for, but he was the one who offhandedly mentioned it, which means he was definitely interested in exploring all the possibilities that came with this type of place. 

 

You’ve been given the rundown by the owner. You know how everything works, not that you’ll be using half of what the room has to offer. The two of you have only one theme chosen tonight. 

 

You run your fingers along what can only be described as tonight’s main event when _finally_ he steps inside the room and shuts the door. 

 

“What are you doing here?” you say. 

 

“What the hell do you mean what am I doing here, Thrider? Obviouthly, I’m here for what we planned me to be here for. Otherwithe, why elth would I be here, thupid?”

 

“Funny that you mentioned this meeting was planned. I always thought when you planned something, it was customary for the assholes doing the planning to actually be on time.”

 

“Thut the fuck up, Thrider,” he says and steps further into the room. “Letth do thith.” 

 

You bite your tongue to keep from smiling. It’s strange. You’re usually pretty damn good with keeping your facial expressions in check, but whenever you’re around him and he starts lisping all over the place like he’s getting paid of it, you’re always tempted to laugh. That, of course, would just piss him off, which would only make you laugh harder. You’d end up fighting and eventually fucking, rough and hard and blacker than onyx and you’re trying to avoid that tonight. 

 

Tonight you’re going for sensual and all that other bullshit. 

 

“Get undressed,” you say all authoritative like. Your arms are folded across your chest and your glasses are making the already dim room seem even dimmer. 

 

“Don’t try to order me around when you already know I’m about to do it anyway,” he replies. “Thath like telling thomeone to thit down when you can clearly thee their ath is hovered above the theat. It’th thupid.” 

 

He goes about taking off his clothes. There’s no finesse to it whatsoever and his shirt gets stuck on his horns, which you snicker at because fuck him, it’s funny. When he’s fully undressed, he stands a few feet away from you with is back resting against the wall. 

 

This is definitely not your first time being with him in a place similar to this, but you’re still surprised at how forward he is when he’s comfortable with someone, that someone being you and you suppose a few other people, but you don’t care about that right now.

 

He’s somehow _still_ wearing his glasses.

 

“Lose the glasses, too.”

 

“No.”

 

You sigh because even though you were expecting this, you’d hope you wouldn’t have to go down this path like every other fucking time. “You’re gonna’ have to take ‘em off anyway, so just _do it_.”

 

“I’ll take them off when I need to take them off. You take yourth off.”

 

“Take off the fucking glasses.”

 

He laughs, leans forward, and tilts his glasses just far enough for you to see his eyes. “Look at Thrider pretending to have power. Thop it, Thrider. Itth not your thing. Your thrength is being blond and wearing glatheth.” He taps a claw on the rim of his glasses. “Glatheth just like the oneth I’m not taking off.”

 

Yeah, whatever. You’ve had enough of this bullshit. Sollux is standing naked in front of you and you’re just standing around being insulted by a troll with a lisp. 

 

What the fuck is your life, really? 

 

He’s still going on, not really rambling, but definitely speaking and most of what he’s saying is-- _surprise_ \--more insults. You reach behind you and grab what essentially resembles something you’d pump gas with. You blindly feel around for the controls and then drag the contraption to the front of your body, pointing it directly at him. 

 

“Take ‘em off,” you say. “Or I’ll blow ‘em off your face.”

 

“I’ve theen your aim, Thrider and I know all about how you blow--”

 

The water startles you when it erupts from the hose and shoots a powerful stream right into Sollux’s face. The glasses stay put, but it doesn’t fucking matter at this point. You’re way more interested in watching him sputter and use his hands to miserably shield his face. 

 

“Thop, Thrider! Turn it off!”

 

“Take off the glasses,” you say. 

 

“Okay!”

 

You kill the stream, lower the hose, and he stands before you, teeth bared and sharp and dangerous. You try not to get excited thinking about what he could do to you if he really wanted to. His breath comes out in heavy pants, but he still reaches up and removes his glasses.

 

He glares at you--one red eye, one blue eye--both narrowed in annoyance, but he’s not fooling anyone. You can tell how turned on he is about it even if things aren’t happening exactly how you had planned. 

 

Okay, you need to get shit moving. You don’t have this room reserved for very long. 

 

You walk over to him, or rather, to the ropes coiled next to his feet. He watches you, still glaring, but there’s obvious curiosity written all over his face. You set the hose onto the floor and go about the meticulous and annoying job of properly binding him. 

 

He insults you every step of the way. 

 

Around the seventh insult, which had much to do with telling you how tying knots was not one of your strengths, you’re tempted to tie the rope around his neck, but you leave that for another night. 

 

Finally, you’re able to stare at your handy work. You fucking hate typing knots, but you think you’ve done a fairly good job. Sollux’s arms are outstretched on either side of his body in a sort of pseudo crucifix method if you believe in that type of thing, which you don’t. His legs are spread in a wide ‘V’ giving you an obscenely clear view of his nook. You try not to let your eyes linger for too long. You’ll just end up getting distracted. 

 

Like always. 

 

You tug on the ropes to make sure he can’t easily escape. You say ‘easily’ because you know he could escape if he really wants to. He’s a lot stronger than he lets on and even more stronger than he looks, which is already fairly strong. 

 

Maybe it’s just you, but something about being a troll screams strength to you. At least, more strength than humans possess. You’re nervous. Your mind is wandering. 

 

You tend to do that when you’re turned on. 

 

You step in front of him, your chest pressed against his. Your eyes are hidden behind your glasses, but you still take a good look. You let the moment sink in, silently let him know, let _yourself_ know, that this is happening because the two of you chose it. 

 

“What the fuck are you tharing at, Thrider?”

 

And just like that he ruins it. He always ruins it. It’s one of the things you like most about him. His faux indifferent ass is always ruining shit. 

 

You don’t bother replying. Instead, you bend down and retrieve the hose. You watch in amusement when he squeezes his eyes shut, but you don’t spray his face. You plan to, but not just yet. You change the water pressure altogether and let a soft stream splash along his chest and cascade down his abdomen. Your eyes follow the path of one droplet, watching as it leaves a liquidly streak further south. It rolls down the upper portion of his thigh before angling off and disappearing between his legs. 

 

He tries to look unaffected by it all, but you know for a fact that water is fucking cold. 

 

“Are you j-just going to thare at me all day?” He asks. 

 

You hear the water rushing from the hose and pattering against the hard floor. There’s something calming about it, not exactly like rain. It’s heavier, but still has the same relaxing effect. 

 

You don’t want to admit to yourself that you’re pretty fucking nervous about this. 

 

“Fucking craziest eyes I’ve ever seen,” you say. 

 

“You thould talk.”

 

You don’t reply to that. You probably would have, but you have two fingers in your mouth, sucking them, and it would look stupid to try to talk around them. Sollux watches and has the audacity to turn his head away. 

 

You pull your fingers from your mouth, wet and slick with your saliva. Using that same hand, you graze the slippery digits up his thigh. With Sollux’s legs spread so far apart, you have the opportunity to slip your fingers inside of him and you fucking _take_ it. 

 

His natural reflex is to gasp and attempt to shut his legs, but the ropes prevent him from doing so. You press your fingers further into his nook and you feel him quiver around them. From the corner of your eye, you seem him struggling with the bindings around his wrists and it turns you on more than you’d thought it would. 

 

“Thrider...”

 

You don’t know what’s come over you, but now more than ever you want to see him struggling even more. Without so much as a word, you raise the hose, letting the water pour over his face. He cries out and again fights to free his arms. The wet heat around your fingers squeezes at them, pushes them deeper inside of him and you groan because what the fuck else can you do at this point?

 

You watch engrossed at the way he fights, holding his breath, head thrashing side to side. When you lower the hose, he gasps for air, lungs expanding, chest rising and lowering, greedily taking in the air we all take for advantage. 

 

“Nothing to say now?” you ask. You rotate your finger, pump them in and out, stimulating him to the point where his bulge eagerly slips out. 

 

Now it’s a fucking party. 

 

He opens his eyes, squinting slightly to keep any water from getting into them. Water drips from his hair, making it cling to his face. You’re particularly interested in his lips, plump and pursed and wet. You lean in close enough to drag your tongue along his bottom lip, licking away the water. 

 

“I didn’t come here to make-out with you, thupid,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. You smirk and capture his bottom lip within your teeth and bite down, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to shut him up. 

 

You move away before he can return the favor. 

 

You use the hose again, once, twice, three more times. You’ve lost count. You and the hose are best fucking friends right about now. Your fingers are still inside of him, so you’re pretty much drenching both him and yourself with water. 

 

You can’t bring yourself to really care. 

 

When you lower the hose again, his head slumps forward in defeat. You’re pretty sure he has something to say, but he’s breathing so hard, you know he won’t be saying anything anytime soon. 

 

Perfect. 

 

You click the small lever that stops the water from spraying out of the hose and toss it behind you. With your fingers still pumping him, you use your free hand to wrap around his bulge. His head snaps up and he looks at you, his expression a mixture of arousal and exhaustion and you know you definitely won’t be using that tank tonight. 

 

You don’t think about what type of person it makes you when you get turned on by watching him thrash and struggle against his bindings. Nor do you think about what it means when you’re amused to hear him whimper out a broken lisped version of your last name. 

 

You chuckle when he presses his back against the wall in a failed attempt to escape your touch. His bulge is stiff and dripping everywhere from your touch, like liquid confetti. 

 

His legs begin to tremble and he shakes his head and tries in vain to move his arms. “W-Wait, Dave...” 

 

But you can’t wait. 

 

Maybe ten minutes ago you could have, but now you can’t stop until this train has reached its destination. Besides, you like it when he calls you by your name like that. 

 

“Stop holding back,” you say. “The only voice you should be listening to is mine and I’m telling you to cum.” You lean forward, your lips ghosting over his cheek. “Fucking _cum_ , Sollux.” It’s a demand whispered so seductively that he has no choice but to comply. 

 

He bucks against both your hands and cums harder than you’ve ever remembered seeing him. 

 

As usual, he makes a mess. 

 

You watch as Sollux slumps forward. If it wasn’t for the ropes, he’d be lying on the ground in a mixture of water and genetic material without a fucking care in the world. 

 

“Well,” you say. “How was that?”

 

“You thuck,” he answers. “You thuck at everything except--”

 

“Being blond and wearing glasses?” You finish for him. 

 

“Yeth, that. You’re good at that.”

 

You shrug. You still have about twenty minutes left to kill. You guess you’ll just have to use that time doing it all over again. 

 

After all, practice makes perfect, or something like that.


End file.
